


Perks of Command

by ivoryandhorn



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Necrophilia, but like, with undead characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-18
Updated: 2008-10-18
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoryandhorn/pseuds/ivoryandhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Prompt: Arthas/banshee: undead endurance - They don't have to breath, eat, sleep...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>This is the price of defiance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perks of Command

He was unable to resist a smile as he saw the summoned figure coalesce before him. “Hello there,” Arthas crooned. “How is eternal torment as one of the wretched undead suiting you?”

Predictably, the banshee did not move, speak, or respond in anyway. It gazed at him in blank obedience, the fine features of its face bland and beautiful. But _beneath_ that lifeless exterior…Arthas felt the last fragment of what had been Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Silvermoon, seething at him. 

“Very well, I see,” he said, amused. “You’ve done very well, wiping out the last pathetic remnants of your people for me. For that, I suppose you deserve a reward.” 

He felt the fragment of Sylvanas still, just for a moment.

“Oh, not _another_ death,” he told the creature. “You’ve already had one, don’t be so greedy. I thought you were a lady? Perhaps my tutors were wrong about the high elves, if their nobility is so crass as to demand _two_ deaths. I suppose one isn’t enough for you pointy-eared oath-breakers.”

The fragment flared back to life as a wild hound lunges at the hand of her captor, only to be stopped inches away by the bars of its prison. 

“Now now, we’ll have not of that,” he admonished. “Let’s see…” He studied the floating form before him, at the translucent suggestion of wild hair and a gown whose hem faded to tatters. The face was still Sylvanas’ though, for all its uncharacteristic stillness; the same proud arch of eyebrow and cheekbones too sharp to be truly pretty. Beautiful to human eyes, he thought, though perhaps less so to elves: he doubted many could have desired the proud arch of her head, or have preferred the warrior’s muscle she’d traded shapely curves for. She’d been a nuisance, yes, but Sylvanas had been a leader born and bred, a fighter to the bone, too proud to know when she was losing and too stubborn to give up when she did.

Arthas smiled at the thought of the great Sylvanas Windrunner being forced to kneel for him like a cheap whore. Of course, she’d have to have knees, first…

The tattered end of the dress coalesced into something approaching solid, and the shapes of legs shone through the rags; the banshee dropped to the ground with an ungraceful thump, hair tumbling about its face. 

He leaned forward and beckoned. “Come.”

The banshee mechanically rose to its knees and edged across the stone, the unnatural talons that passed for its fingers scraping rhythmically over the ground. Arthas was too engrossed in the banshee’s mind to feel impatient; too busy delighting in the way the fragment of Sylvanas swirled in confusion before the seed of suspicion take root; feeling the way the fragment began drawing itself taut beneath his touch…

“What a good girl,” he cooed as the banshee laboriously mounted the steps leading up to his throne, just to feel the flash of heat beneath his icy grip. Arthas shucked his gloves and unlaced his trousers, curling his hand around its base. 

The banshee obediently bent her head to his lap, slipping the head cock between her cold lips. Arthas slid his free hand into its banshee’s hair and gripped the stiff locks tight, casually thrusting into her mouth.

“Oh, what are you complaining about,” he said, when he felt the equivalent of Sylvanas’ gagging. “It isn’t as if you need to breathe.”

The heat of Sylvanas’ rage matched the heat flaring between Arthas’ legs; the elf had been so troublesome, so _proud_ in life and now…here she was, helpless before him. As all of Azeroth would soon be. He could taste a hint of the power now, could only imagine its magnitude when he finally faced Ner’zhul; the way the magic would lace his blood and fill him, greater than any being to ever walk the planet—the entire world, completely—at—his—mercy—

Arthas let the banshee withdraw, lacing up his clothes—Sylvanas huddled in her prison, weeping, either in hopelessness or sheer impotent rage. Arthas rather suspected the latter. The woman was too strong to easily break, which was what made his little games so much fun.

“Be off with you,” he said. The creature floated up before him, legs dissipating, his come still tricking down the corners of its mouth. “And I do hope you enjoyed your reward.”

It was merely chance that the banshee’s scream coincided that of Sylvanas, but it made him smile all the same.


End file.
